Goodbye John
by CuteElfKai
Summary: Harold Grieves for John


Harold stood and watched in horror as John talked about saving one life, the right life, saying good bye. He watched as Samaritans agents gunned him down. Harold escaped from the building seconds before the missile hit.

And now John was gone… dead and it was all Harold's fault. It wasn't meant to be like this, the machine was supposed to protect John, he was the contingency, the primary asset, he was meant to carry on if anything happened to Harold, when something happened to Harold. He couldn't understand why the machine hadn't tried to save John as well.

Somehow John had managed to bargain with the machine to protect Harold at all costs, convincing the machine to override Harold's original programming that meant the machine wouldn't treat Harold differently to any other human. Harold supposed the machine liked John, was that even possible for an AI? He wondered. She had continued to speak to him even after Root's 24 hours of unlimited access had been terminated.

John had said he wouldn't do the numbers without Harold, but Harold felt the same way, how could he go on without John's assistance? Right at the beginning they had acknowledged that death for one or both of them was a possibility, a probability even, but they had thought it would be through a mistake taking care of a number not like this….. Not like this…..

Harold had been injured and it wasn't until his injuries had begun to heal that he was able to face his grief head on. He'd missed the funeral, was there anyone there? Did anyone know whose it was? He supposed that there wouldn't have been anything left to bury, he hoped the end when it came had been quick.

For days Harold was at a loss, his grief kept him from doing the things he knew he must, he decided that he had to leave New York, there were too many memories here. He would start a new life somewhere, with someone. He still loved Grace that was true but, would she take him back?

But before he could leave he had things to do. Shaw would continue with the numbers, he would continue to pay her, he left her the apartment he'd given her when she had joined them and he left her the safe house that they had used. Reluctantly he would leave Bear with her too. Then he began to dismantle the various aliases of John's, there would be no use for them now, he kept the John Warren, Riley and Reese alive, there was some small part of his brain that still wouldn't accept that John was gone for good, after all John had got out of difficult situations before, and until he fully accepted that John was never coming back he would keep the names available. He hated doing it but it was something that needed to be done. Then he disposed of most of his own aliases, there was no need to hide behind so many anymore, keeping only his Wren and Finch names. He put IFT in good hands and though he still owned the company, he decided to retire from the day to day running of it. He disposed of all of his various homes dotted around the city and beyond except for one.

Now he found himself outside that one remaining place, Johns loft, he probably shouldn't have been there but he'd felt the need to be where he'd been with John the most after the library. Taking a deep breath he opened the door and stepped inside. The place was clean and tidy as though John had just stepped out for a moment, though in reality it had been sometime since they had been there, once they'd assumed the Riley and Whistler alter egos it wasn't possible to use it, Riley couldn't afford a place like this on a Detectives pay. With halting steps Harold approached John's bed; it was made with a military precision just as John had left it. He opened the closet, neatly hanging inside were Johns black suits. Harold reached out and touched a jacket; he took it off the hanger and walked back into the living room. He sat down on the sofa, still holding the jacket.

Harold sighed; tears began to flow as he remembered the times they had spent on this sofa, discussions after a case was over, chats about the food, the weather, when a new number was going to come up. They'd argued about the opera, which John had hated and the merits of sub titles on the films they had occasionally gone to see when the weather was foul and there was nothing else to do. John had gone to these things because Harold had asked him.

John had occasionally cooked meals for them, he was quite a good cook, and Harold was going to miss the eggs benedict he made. Harold had used a computer there as John's obsession with keeping Harold safe grew, it was easier to keep John calm by spending some of their "down time" together here than to be at his home knowing that John was outside lurking in the shadows watching, trying to keep Harold safe. The computer was gone now along with everything else. John had come to mean so much more to Harold than merely an employee, he'd become his friend, his best friend and he felt deeply for this enigmatic man almost as a brother.

A sob caught in his throat, never again would he hear John's voice, teasing him about something, nor would he hear his voice over the comms unit, telling him he was alright. Harold had learnt to tell the difference between John really being alright and John bleeding over another suit. Never again would he hear John's footsteps in the subway. There would be no more green tea and doughnuts.

A wave of sadness washed over him as he remembered the snarky comments that John made when dealing with members of the various underworld gangs he'd come across. He remembered how Fusco had called him 'Mr Tall Dark and Dangerous', 'Wonderboy','Mr Sunshne' and 'The Bane of My Existence'. He didn't know if Fusco knew what had happened to John, he would try and let him know before he left.

Through tear smeared glasses Harold looked around the apartment; there were no mementoes of John's life, no photographs. John had said he travelled light; all his pictures and mementoes were stored in his head. Harold folded the jacket and placed it in a bag; he collected the pants and a crisp white dress shirt along with shoes, socks and underwear and placed them with the jacket. He would get Shaw to come and remove Johns arsenal of weapons and then he would mothball the loft, he would use it if he ever came back to New York.

Taking a last look around, Harold picked up the bag and wiping his eyes he left the loft.

A few days later he went to visit John's grave, the headstone now had his real name inscribed on it. Harold laid a few flowers in front of it and traced the name with his finger, saying his last farewells; he didn't expect to come back to New York for a very long time. In a quiet voice he told John what he was doing, where he was going and he hoped that where ever John was that he would forgive Harold. He shivered even though it was a warm afternoon, turning round he thought he'd heard John's voice, but it wasn't him, just his imagination playing tricks, but he knew that John would have said there was nothing to forgive, he'd died in the manner he wished, doing the job he loved, protecting the people he loved.

Harold sighed it would have to be enough, "Good bye my dear friend" he said as he left the graveside and headed for the airport and the prospect of a new life in Italy with Grace.

End


End file.
